Let’s Talk Turkey

Thanksgiving is almost here, so there’s lots of turkey talk. I’ll admit that never in my life have I had to cook an actual turkey,and that’s a fact that served me well in my discussion via text with my poor, unsuspecting mom this morning.

I saw a few posts online about pranking your mother with a text about cooking a turkey in a microwave. Like this one on Buzzfeed, for example:

Instagram: blessed.mess.jess / Via: Instagram.com

You may have seen them, but if you haven’t, you should- they’re hilarious. There are a bunch of stressed-out moms out there, assuming that their kids (like myself) are far dumber than even they suspected.

And are risking their lives to cook a turkey… in a microwave.

Now I love me a good prank, and our family has a history of stressing the ones we love (and even those we don’t) for a laugh.

My mom, a hardcore Italian mama, has always mourned the fact that I don’t cook the family recipes, or cook much more than I absolutely have to. She knows I’ve never prepared a full turkey, so when I read this, I was ALL OVER IT. At 8:15am, too, because a good prank is best served early.

So I texted my mom the opening question:

I sat back & waited, giddy with anticipation. Because I knew a response was soon to come.

And I was right:

I love that she quickly resorts to emojis to emphasize that cooking a turkey in the microwave is prohibited, because she clearly feels her daughter is just.not.getting.it.

But she fears that her clear illustration just might not be enough- my house phone rings. I know it’s her. And I yell out to the entire house,

“Do NOT pick up that phone!!!”

The call goes to the machine. Now Mom is getting desperate, because my cell phone (in my hand) rings.

Twice.

Mom is determined to stop the impending turkey catastrophe that she is certain is brewing.

(The advantage I have here is: yes, my microwave happens to be pretty big. So my poor mother assumes that they turkey may actually fit. And this may actually happen- if she can’t stop it in time.)

At this point, I’m cackling. And my kids are in on it, too. They want me to keep talking turkey, and are gladly ignoring the ringing phone in favor of the fun.

Now she’s envisioning the rubbery microed-turkey in her mind. And that makes me imagine what she’s imagining, and I’m DYING. The cackles have now become snorts.

I love the, “Trust me on this”.

Translated, “Please don’t rely on your own feeble brain here.”

While I’m not actually having guests over tonight for an ill-fated turkey dinner, I named two of my favorite friends as supposed dinner guests. Mom “hearts” their names, no doubt feeling tremendous compassion for their potentially disastrous dinner.

And her response shifted my delighted snorts of laughter to full-blown tears of joyful hysteria:

THEY DESERVE A GOOD TURKEY.

Maybe some of my other friends could eat the radioactive turkey, but not these two. Nope- Mom wants to spare these good friends such an awful experience, because they deserve better.

She will COOK THIS TURKEY HERSELF, by God, to give these people the meal they deserve and to save that turkey.

And since she lives four doors down from my own house, I ended the prank there. Because knowing her as I do, I fully expected her to knock on my door armed with a fire extinguisher and oven mitts, to cart the burning turkey carcass away & to attempt to resuscitate it’s usefulness in her own magic kitchen.

But knowing her as I do, I also knew she’d be hysterical once she knew it was a joke. And she was, laughing just as hard with me.

That’s how we know we’re family, people- we have the same sick sense of humor.

And the bonus: joke or not, I’ll never be asked to cook the Thanksgiving turkey now.